God of the Damned
by Chocolate-Coated-Chocobo
Summary: AU Ryou summons a demon, no THREE. And while the demons upset his life and the lives of two innocents, they also try to gather for one goal. But something else was freed with them... hiatus
1. Prologue

**Prologue-**

_Maybe if I slit my wrists, it wouldn't hurt so much. If I was bleeding freely, releasing me. God of the Damned, send me a savior. I don't want to be alone anymore._

This is the story of a boy.

The boy was young. He was weak in body, weak in mind. He went through the motions of life alone and without thought. He was uncomfortable around people, and was well experienced in the ways of self-denial.

This boy was always afraid. He was afraid of other people, but mostly, he was afraid of himself. He was afraid of the images his mind created, late at night. Visions of blood, of demons and shadows and horrible, ever-expanding chasms that led to the very depths of Hell.

Yet he was also fascinated.

He began to pour himself into these visions, with every ounce of his strength. He read books, scores and scores of books. Books filled with demons more terrifying, more powerful, more deceitful and venomous than anything his mind had created. And he was glad.

Until news came to him; his only living connection to the natural world, his only sister, had died.

So the boy dove deeper. He spread all of his soul across the pages, searching for a glimmer of hope. He searched out of fear, out of desperation, out of curiosity, loneliness, out of a sheer desire to defy the rest of the world.

That is when he found the Demon of Demons. The Demonic Messiah.

The Demon of lies, of betrayal, of hatred. The Demon of thievery, of infidelity, of defiance. The Demon of mistrust and the Demon of shadows and the Demon of blood.

The Demon was a sick and twisted mirror of the Divine. He dwelt in an unholy trinity; he was the greatest of three evils. One of darkness within light, One of violence within Hatred, and Himself, one of Deceit within Deceit.

The boy was thrilled.

He found contained within the book, the story of the Demon's entrapment, along with his two companions. He also found, the Demon's Promise.

"_Light will call out to the Darkness, to complete what is not whole. Pieces of will and fragments of desire, placed within my mirror, bring life to the deceased. Blood poured from the soul of loneliness, I will cure what harms you."_

So the boy said to himself "How beautiful a story! There is not a word out of place. Perhaps, even, this is real? I must try it for myself."

This was to cause much strife.

With unsteady hands, the boy performed the ritual. On an eve within the warmest of months, when the moon was eclipsed fully in shadow, the boy took an old hand mirror, one that once belonged to his mother, and shattered it precisely at midnight.

After the fragments had flew, he gathered the shards and arranged them in the shape of an Egyptian Ankh, the symbol of life. Shakily he held his hand out over a soot-stained platter and slit his left palm, squeezing the deep red blood onto the platter and letting it form an uneven puddle.

Somewhere in the night, a Darkness stirred.

Gently, carefully, he dipped the bottom of each shard in his blood, before placing them back into their correct positions in the mirror. More than once he accidentally cut his finger tips trying to arrange them straight.

The Darkness sniffed, licking it's lips in thirst and expectation.

When finally the mirror was whole again, the boy began the final step in calling the Demon. With slow deliberation, in a voice that was anything but steady, he recited the incantation.

"_Maybe if I slit my wrists, it wouldn't hurt so much. If I was bleeding freely, releasing me. God of the Damned, send me a savior. I don't want to be alone anymore._

"_Light will call out to the Darkness, to complete what is not whole. Pieces of will and fragments of desire, placed within my mirror, bring life to the deceased. Blood poured form the soul of loneliness, I will cure what harms you._

"_Now if I may slit my wrists, it wouldn't hurt so much. If I was bleeding freely, releasing me. God of the Damned, send me a savior. I don't want to be alone anymore._

"_God of the Damned, send me a savior. I don't want to be alone anymore."_

And with that, a single boy who lived weakly and in fear, sealed the fate of all.


	2. Chapter 1, Reflections

**Reflections-**

"God of the Damned, send me a savior. I don't want to be alone anymore."

There was silence.

Sucking on his teeth to ignore the pain, Ryou cast an uneasy glance about the room. Nothing moved in the utter darkness. The green-lit clock above his stove read 12:14 am. He sighed.

"I guess that's it, then. Do hope this doesn't leave a scar," he muttered, examining the tinted palm. He gently wrapped his other hand around it, putting pressure on the vessel to slow blood flow. With minimal difficulty, he stood, and began wrapping bandages on the wound at the counter. Having reviewed the ceremony prior, he'd known quite well that he'd need to pre-prepare the first aid kit.

"Well, perhaps it's better this way anyway," the boy whispered to himself. Biting off the cloth with his teeth, he began to move quickly his thin fingers to knot tied the wrapping. But he stopped as there was a powerful and violent knock on the door.

Startled, Ryou fought down a wave of terror and excitement. He stared at the tri-locked door, searching for movement.

Approaching the door slowly, with great caution he peered through the peephole. Ryou saw nothing. Against his better judgment, he slowly and carefully unbarred the top lock, unlatched the bottom lock and unchained the center lock. Taking a deep breath, he turned the handle and opened the apartment door.

A wickedly grinning reflection greeted him.

Letting out a cry, he slammed shut again the door. Silence again reigned, save for the sound of the boy trying to steady his ragged breathing and racing heart.

'_What on Earth was that?'_ he feared mentally. Ryou swallowed, braced himself, and opened the door again. There was nothing but dark and familiar hallways, the same that had always been outside his apartment. _'My mind is playing tricks again...'_

Sighing deeply, he shut and locked the door. Mechanically, he proceeded to pickup the platter and the razor, wrap the razor in cardboard and slip it into the trash, rinse of the platter in the sink, lift his mother's now shattered mirror, and place it on the counter to be dealt with in the morning.

Except there was a problem. The mirror wasn't shattered anymore. As though his blood had been glue, the pieces no longer slid with scratching noises from side to side, and the cracks had been reduced to spider-web thin lines, barely visible in the dim light.

Ryou stared in fear and wonder at his own shocked expression. And he watched with mounting terror as it morphed into the grinning figure from the door.

"**Ryou Takeya."**

The white haired boy yelped, jumping away from the mirror. An echoing laugh filled his head, and in blind fright Ryou rushed into his room, shutting swiftly and tightly the door behind him.

His breathing was heavy, but even. And his hands, they shook violently. His room was completely black, and for a moment Ryou battled with whether or not to switch on the light.

"_Light will call out to the Darkness..."_

He shook his head, deciding instead to just go to sleep. _'My mind has played these sorts of games with me before. It was just never this real,'_ he concluded numbly. Without bothering to change from his clothes, Ryou slid into the bed and under the covers.

Ryou firmly shut his eyes and tried to clear his mind of cluttered-thoughts. Of the image of the strange face. He willed himself to drift to sleep. He willed himself to not even think until the morning.

"**Awaken."**

Ryou bolted upright, staring wildly at the deserted room. Little furniture stood, he had always been sparing in that fashion, and everything had an organized air to it. The only chaotic element was the bookshelf, pushed far off into a corner, crammed with new, used and borrowed books, all pointing to an occult obsession. Otherwise, the room was that of a completely normal boy.

A small, quiet whine dragged Ryou's eyes to the foot of his bed. There was no denying the large, narrowed, ice-blue eyes that stared back at him. Ryou had to swallow another scream.

"H-hello," he choked, staring at the eyes. They were attached to a crouched black form, something that looked vaguely like a panther. The creature breathed out heavily, releasing warm breath that Ryou could feel even from there. And he could taste it, too. It tasted like metal, almost like blood.

The thing whined again, and opened it's mouth a fraction of an inch. Already, the gleaming canines bore holes into Ryou's eyes. They called to his flesh, called for food.

As if by some Otherworldly will, Ryou recalled the book. Remembered the Post-cermony rules. Do not deny, embrace fear, avoid light, and give blood. Until this moment, he had not understood what the last line had meant. Fevertively, he began to pick at the tiny knot.

"H-how are you?" he asked in a slightly broken conversationally tone, just to break the overwhelming silence. The creature ran a thick, heavy tongue over it's teeth in anticipation. Ryou nodded gently, as though this was a perfectly logical response. Which for a shadowy spirit of unfathomable evil, is quite possible.

Finally the knot gave, and Ryou was able to quickly unwrap the hand. The blood seemed even partially dry; it at least was not flowing anymore. The boy gave an involuntary gasp as his bed rocked, and glanced up to see the creature pawing over to him, head down and staring at the hand. Ryou swallowed, and slowly raised his left hand, palm upward, under the creatures mouth. He could feel the _hunger_ now, could feel it running mercilessly through his body.

The creature sniffed twice the upturned palm, paused, and then with almost frightening speed, concealed it within it's mouth. A shiver ran down Ryou's spine as he felt the heavy, papery tongue run over his wound, opening it up again. He felt the creature pull, sucking the blood from the cut, causing it to widen from sheer force. And Ryou was grateful that he could no longer feel pain from the wound as he sensed it grow wider still, opening a chasm into his body. Boring out a hole.

The creature ran it's tongue over the wound once more, and opened it's mouth. Quickly, Ryou pulled back his hand and released a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. All that remained of the cut was a triangular shaped, reddish colored scar of tight new flesh.

The boy swallowed and looked up. But the creature was gone, frightening icy eyes and all.

"**Do not Deny, Embrace Fear, Avoid the Light, and Give Blood, Ryou Takeya."**

"**We are free."**


	3. Chapter 2, Shadows

_Ultra Special Blah Blah Number One: Brief thanks and immense acknowledgments to reviewers. You have no idea how ecstatically happy that made me. Never heard of Darren Shan to be honest, but I plan to look into it. The web site looked VERY interesting, VERY creepy, and I'm VERY flattered for the comparison. The next two chapters won't have Ryou, the poor duckling, and this one's really short. SO, the next chapter goes up, hopefully, tomorrow. It IS done. (grin)._

**Shadows-**

A small boy shivered, slowly opened his eyes, and then let them slid shut again. With sure fingers, he clenched tight the thin sheet over him and pulled it tighter. In continuing discomfort, the boy rolled from side to side on the rickety little cot.

A cool wind blew through the room, weaving past dusty, filthy and mildew-soaked boxes, piled high as the ceiling. The wind eventually found itself from the single, high mounted window in the very back, to the boy and his cot near the staircase.

Yugi bolted upright, throwing a wild amethyst gaze about the room, quickly scanning each and every corner and shadow. "Hello?" he asked in a soft voice.

"Hello," a dark voice said smoothly. Yugi swirled in the sheets to come face to face with his own double. The figure was taller, more angular, clothed in leather and silver. His eyes reflecting a deep crimson in the scarce starlight, and a fierce smirk alighted on thin, pale lips. He was deeply involved in throwing and then catching a small pocket knife, by the blade.

Frantically, Yugi scooted backward to the edge of his cot. Although it only put a few more inches between them, it still made him feel better. "W-what do you want?" Yugi stammered out.

The figure caught the knife, flipping the blade shut and clenching the device tightly in his fist. He closed his eyes and let out a slow sigh. "Ah, that is the question of the day, isn't it? What _do_ you want, Yugi Motou?" he breathed quietly. Yugi stared at him.

He considered this for a moment. For the man to go away, for the shop not to be closed down by the bank, for his aunt to be a little nicer to him, for mom and dad to come back from America. "For Grandpa to get better," Yugi sighed, staring at his hands.

The figure opened one eye, glancing at Yugi out of the corner of it. "Really? Is that all?" he asked softly, calmly.

Yugi was silent a minute, sucking on his lip,before he nodded. Slow, but sure. "Y-yes."

The smirk returned, madder than ever. "That is hardly anything at all boy," he breathed excitedly. Placing the fist containing the knife on his hip, he leaned over toward Yugi. With his other hand, he pointed the boy's face up to look him in the eyes. This man seemed to have hardly eaten in days, his skin was tight, and the sharp features of his face, the manic glint in his blood-red eyes, were given a wild and almost animalistic quality in the dim starlight. "Pick one more thing and we shall have a deal," the man purred softly. His breath was cold and metallic, like silver.

Partially from fear,Yugi said the first thing that came to his mind. "F-friends. Good friends, loyal friends, friends that will take care of me and I can take care of..."

The figure frowned slightly, let go and pulled back. He sucked softly on his cheek, then shrugged. "All right, shouldn't be a problem." He paused, leaned again to be at face level with the boy, and tapped his lips lightly three times. "Keep quiet, okay?"

And he was gone. Like Yugi'd imagined it, he was lying down again, under the thin sheet, on the tiny cot, in the dark basement. Only the taste of the man's breath in his throat kept Yugi from completely writing it off as a very vivid hallucination.


	4. Chapter 3, Violence

**Violence-**

Thin fingers clutched desperately the small cotton ball, dabbing hesitantly at a patch of red. Marikku winced, lowered the alcohol-saturated object, and picked up a band-aid. Mumbling to himself, he applied it to his bronze skin. "Bastard. Thinks he's so right about everything. Who the hell cares if I'm not working?I don't care if I'm not working,mom doesn't care. Ishizu doesn't care. He just wants more beer..."

Marik glanced up without conviction to stare at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. But he had to stop and stare a moment. It had looked for a moment like...

"Marikku! Marik!" Ishizu cried, barging right through the bathroom door and slamming it shut again behind her. She was sobbing, with ragged breaths, though not a single tear slid down her face.

"You know Ishizu, I'm not always tending to wounds in here. You should knock," he muttered. She glanced up, hazel eyes wide and watery. Marik rolled his eyes sarcastically. "Okay, okay, sorry. Did he, hurt you?" Marik asked softly, a bit uncertain.

Instead of answering Marik, Ishizu collapsed into a sobbing, gasping, hardly-breathing lump at his feet. It occurred to Marik, if only briefly, that it would take an awful lot to make his calm, cool, collected, cucumber-like sister totally break down like this. With more than a bit of apprehension, he kneeled down and lifted his face to hers. Small trails of water ran down in uneven paths from the corners of her beautiful eyes. "Hey, sis, what's _wrong_?" he coaxed her,wiping away the tears.

She sniffed softly, gazing intently at the gentle, lilac eyes. Like their father's, yet so much different. "Father, hurt our mother," she whispered, voice surprisingly even. Here eyes were scanning his intently, as though reading some hidden message.

Marik paused, trying to chose his words carefully. He'd never had to deal with Ishizu in an emotional state. "Is it, bad?" he asked gently. Without removing her eyes from his, she nodded softly. "How bad?" he pushed carefully. Ishizu breathed in sharply.

"I think, she may be dead," Ishizu said quietly. His eyes were so beautiful, so caring, so... mesmerizing...

Marik stood up abruptly. Panic was quickly leaking into his movements and his mind. He opened the bathroom door harshly, glancing up and down the hall. All was quiet in the house. Half running and half tiptoeing, he made his way toward his parents' bedroom. But was stopped in the living room.

She lay near the far wall, across from the couch, which was still upset from when Marikku had fought with his father last. Long, pale and silken honey-blonde hair lay in a haphazard mess about her head, a crowning halo of gold, made thick and brown with gobs of blood. Her smooth, light-brown skin was tinted and torn, her clothes in tatters, a knife sticking out from her stomach, twisted till it looked like someone had tied a knot in her flesh.

Marik felt his stomach lurch as Ishizu came to a stunned stop behind him. "H-he... has stabbed her?" she said in soft disbelief. Marik shook his head. His mother's eyes were clouded, desperate, afraid. They'd never looked like that before, not even when they were beaten.

"I'm leaving," Marik said in a whisper. Ishizu gasped, glancing at him sharply.

"Marikku, you can't. I mean, what if...," she trailed off. Marik shook his head firmly.

"No, I don't think so. I suggest you leave too," he told her matter-of-factly, heading for the front door. He spared her a wane smile. "You are too wise to stay in a place like this, Ishizu, and I am too much trouble."

Ten minutes later, Marik was pacing the dark city streets,alone and without baggage. He kept his mind working, thinking about where to go, how to survive. He wouldn't think about the darkness, the closed buildings, empty streets, the thick summer night air. The blood pouring straight from his mother's heart.

Marik shook his head firmly. "Focus," he whispered automatically. It would be pointless to just try not to think at all; that never works for him. Always his mind would wander into other things. Unpleasant things. precisely what he was trying to avoid thinking. But no one could survive that. No one could _look_ like that, _suffer_ through that, and still be alive. Her eyes were so...

Marik turned swiftly, eyes darting frantically, searching for the source of the shifting shadows. He was on edge, uneasy, shaken. So it was probably just his imagination.

"**It's all right... relax."**

Marik stared at the shadows, at the vague outline of a person in it. A car flew by behind him in the road, headlights casting a brief light over him. He blinked. What was he trying to do? He couldn't remember.

"**We can help you forget..."**

Slowly, as though trying to remember the motions,Marik shook his head. He took off suddenly, running down the streets,past the empty houses and deserted shops and laughing, traveling gangs. There was a voice back there, a person, who looked almost like him. A person that looked almost like him, a voice that seemed almost in his head.

"I'm losing it,"Marik muttered between fast gasps. Slowing to a stop, he bent over to breath, leaning on a street lamp light. Bathed in the vivid light, he could see each and every different stone in the sidewalk, could read the brand off the scrunched cigarette package, even from under his shadow. His shadow that was moving without him.

"I am totally losing it," he gasped, staring, eyes transfixed on the morphing form. It crawled across the ground, fluid like water, _'This is not possible...,'_ made it's way slowly toward a cloaked doorway, rose up against the wall, pushed out of itself into the 3-D form. It was real. Vivid color washed across the shadow, giving it shape, features. The face from the mirror, sharp, forced, a face from Marik's childhood nightmares.

"Shit," Marik breathed. The shadow smirked, and launched at him.


	5. Chapter 4, Mission

_Ultra Special Blah Blah Number Two: I don't own Yu-gi-oh! or Linkin Park. Reviews make smiles and I hope you guys still like this as the creepiness fades some for a few chapters._

**Mission-**

Ryou stared bleary eyed at the wall, trying to ignore the pounding in his head.

"**Get up."**

And the voice. Almost forgot the voice. Breathing a heavy sigh, he rolled over- and onto the floor. "Another perfect day," he thought dully. On al fours, he crawled over to his bookshelf and pried the thick _"Demons and Summoners; The Darkness Prevails"_ from it's placed jammed amongst the wicca books.

Flipping casually to the section of The Demon, marked by a coke stained napkin, he tuned out the intense feeling of someone else in the room. His headache had definitely dealt a severe blow ot his personality, as such anomalies usually do.

"_The Demon has many names, and many forms. Nothing is known to be actually true about this Demon, but there are numerous accounts found of successful summonings of the Demon. For example, in the summer of 1346, we found the written description by a middle-aged blacksmith in Ireland who reportedly found a series of scrolls describing the ceremony. Following through the steps, he lists each moment in the process with increasing detail, up until an evident and rapid descent into insanity._

'_After the ceremony, I could see no effect. But slowly it came to my attention, a knock on the door, a man that looked much like me, but fierce,demonic. a face in the mirror.'_

'_I felt an overwhelming headache in the morning. Even now, a harsh voice accompanies my thoughts, invading my soul. What horrors have I brought upon myself?'_

_From there it becomes less and less understandable and harder to read. The writings grow scrawling and forced, as though he is being physically harmed in their. Also is documented within a diary the case of a young girl in China- during 1508"_

Ryou slammed shut the book, rubbing his ill eyes. "This volume will lend me no help," he sighed. He cast his eyes slowly about the room, pausing momentarily on the overwhelming form of the double standing ominously in the corner, exhaled slowly, and stood.

"So I'm up, now what?" the boy said darkly. The figure smirked.

"**Feisty. Eat something."**

Ryou's skin crawled slowly, alarm bells screaming "UNNATURAL!" For the man's mouth did not move when he spoke. It retained it's silent, tightly pressed smirk. Ryou sighed, deciding it was best to oblige. Buts first, he made a detour out of his room and into the bathroom.

He searched semi-blindly through the cupboard. His vision was still a bit blurred at the edges. With a sigh of relief, his hands settled around the sticker-marked bottle of aspirin. Holding it close to his face,he was able to confirm it by reading the label himself. Ryou shook out three pills, popped them into his mouth, and made his way into the kitchen.

Ryou paused, resting his hands on his hips and glancing back at the brooding figure. It was dressed in his clothes. "Any preferences?" he asked cynically. The man did not grace him with an answer, but the smirk slipped and the blue eyes darkened. Ryou smiled at the powerful feeling of pleasure that coursed through him.

Shrugging nonchalantly, he headed toward the fridge, dug out a carton of eggs, half-gallon of milk and a container of orange juice. He began to cook the meager breakfast.

'_You'd think a demon would have something more... demonic, than breakfast on his mind though. It worries me,'_ Ryou thought to himself as his scrambled eggs hissed and solidified. As his headache faded away to a dull throb, he decided to focus more on being cautious than smart. Besides, smart was not polite. Sister had always told him to be polite when he got like this. She said it was much unlike him. It was unpleasant. And that meant she thought he _was_ pleasant.

The eggs tasted terrific, and were very fluffy. The milk went well with them to counteract the dryness from the salt and the orange juice afterward did excellent to quench his remaining thirst. Ryou smiled, feeling much better. His vision ahd returned again as well. He carefully rinsed off his dishes and put them on top of the black plate. No reminisce of his blood was on it.

"**Thank you,"** the voice hissed gently in his mind. Ryou paused, only now remembering the demon, and glanced in the corner.

He was bathed in sunlight, powerful, summer sunlight, that made his hair glow at the edges and his delicately tanned skin glisten. His angular features seemed almost to belong in the straightedged, too-clean apartment apartment, and the effect of his icy eyes near the blue-sky behind him was amazing. But Ryou's baggy clothes seemed out of place on him, and most disturbingly, the only even slightly demonic feature to him was the manic grin plastered signaturely on his thin, pale lips. He looked human.

"**Staring is impolite, Ryou,"** the voice in his head breathed quietly. Ryou jumped, startled out of his daze, and decided to busy himself doing research on the computer. Maybe find out how to _uncommon_ demons. He made his way importantly toward his computer room.

Unlike the rest of Ryou's apartment, his study was a mess. Left over tests from as long ago as January, a disheveled backpack, an even larger assortment of books, and his computer, placed in the center of a dangerously cluttered desk, were only a few of the rooms occupants. Picking his way without grace to the computer chair, Ryou managed to trip not once, not twice, but three times, before successfully reaching his computer. The Demon sniggered in the back of his mind.

After booting up, the very first thing Ryou did was start up WIndows Media and start his music. He paused as Linkin Park came on shuffle.

"_Why does it feel like night today? _

_Something in here's not right today. _

_Why am I so uptight today? _

_Paranoia's all I got left _

_I don't know what stressed me first _

_Or how the pressure was fed _

_But I know just what it feels like _

_To have a voice in the back of my head _

_It's like a face that I hold inside _

_A face that awakes when I close my eyes _

_A face watches every time I lie _

_A face that laughs every time I fall _

_(And watches everything) _

_So I know that when it's time to sink or swim _

_That the face inside is hearing me _

_Right underneath my skin"_

Ryou quickly closed out the program. 'Why_ too familiar...,'_ he thought numbly. No doubt this was NOT what the band had meant. The voice was now laughing openly.

"**All right then, Ryou. Are you done playing? We have work to do,"** it said softly. Ryou turned in his chair to stare at the man hovering in his study doorway.

"Work?" he echoed hesitantly. The smirk grew in power.

"**Work,"** the Demon assured him. The assurance was NOT very comforting.


	6. Chapter 5, Light

**Light-­**

The motions of Yugi's hands were automatic. He was not concentrating on washing the dishes, but they were still getting washed. He was used to it by now.

"Are you, going to hover behind me all day?" he asked gently, glancing over his shoulder. The angular man stared at him, slightly surprised. He smiled slightly. Not a smirk. A _smile_.

"Absolutely," the man replied. Yugi ignored the dread pulsing through him. Something bad was going on.

'_And I've gone crazy,'_ his mind chimed. The man laughed. He'd been doing that at a lot of Yugi's thoughts. It was still scary that the man could hear them, but it only enforced the theory that the man was a hallucination brought on by too many cold nights in the basement. Or, something like that.

THe phone rung, the ceramic slipped from between his fingers, shattered on the floor, the phone rung again, shards of it, soapy water, was flung in all directions. Yugi picked up the receiver. "Hello?"

"Hi, is Yugi Motou there?" a bored secretarial voice asked. Yugi shifted the phone to be cradled between his ear and shoulder as he bent down to pick up the shards.

"Speaking," he muttered, though he spoke politely. The man was smirking again.

"Bet your soul it's the hospital, your Grandfather's better," the man said smugly. Yugi glared up at him, daring him to speak again.

"This is the hospital. We're calling about your Grandfather. He appears to have made a full recovery. We called to inform you we'll be keeping him one more day and if he's still stable he can come home," the lady said, a bit more life in his voice. Yugi didn't even bother to fight the wave of relief.

"Thank you," Yugi said honestly, joy evident. The mechanical motions of his hands had stopped. He was merely crouching there over them. The man's smirk was so fierce it battled Yugi's glee.

"We'll call you again tomorrow. Good bye," the phone said, and then it clicked. Yugi sat there, just basking in his happiness, till the phone started to beep, warning him it was off hook too long.

With a content sigh, he stood and hung it up. Then, for reasons he couldn't count,he turned to the man. "Are you allowed to bet my soul?" Yugi asked slowly.

"Yes. In exchange for friends and your grandfather, I own it," he said. This man was completely serious. The ferocity of the smirk was overpowering.

"And, so... What are you going to do with... me?" Yugi asked, articulating each of his words carefully. The smirk faltered, and then faded away.

"I'm not sure yet," he said simply. He stopped leaning on the fridge. He began to pace circles around Yugi. He looked him up and down.

The man began to hum to himself, an errie and foreign, yet familiar tune. It reminded Yugi of sand and sugar canes and hot nights.

"I believe," said the man, now the one speaking slowly and punctually, "That I wish to keep you as you are. I will, make another deal with you."

"Another deal?" Yugi echoed, watching the man nervously. He nodded his spiked head.

"Yes. I think, we shall be partners. Is that all right?" the man asked. For the second time in five minutes, Yugi was flooded with relief.

"Yes, that would be nice," Yugi said quickly, before the man could change his mind.

"Good," he said, smiling. Yugi paused, uncertainty wavering in his amethyst eyes.

"Partners in what?" he asked hesitantly.

The man smirked again.


	7. Chapter 6, Hatred

**Hatred-**

Marikku was ten again. He smiled up at his older sister, a picture of beauty. She was kind, intelligent, pretty, hardworking, she didn't let emotions get in the way of what she did or said. Marik liked being ten. At that age he admired these qualities without feeling jealousy.

Marik and Ishizu were playing in the park. It was dusk; they were in the teeter-totters. Marik loved the rush of the wind as he went up and down, so quickly because of the large weight difference between him and his sister. She was tall already, but he weighed more. One hundred pounds, and most of it really was muscle.

Marikku was like and unlike other ten-year old boys in the same way he was and wasn't naive. Marik was like other boys in that he liked adventure, stories and speed. But he didn't lean either way on girls, didn't have friends, was usually withdrawn. He was loud around those he knew well, hid from the unknown. Marik was wiser because he understood that the human world isn't black and white, it was colored. All different hues in all different shades. Good and evil, right and wrong, they were figurative, relative or imaginary concepts. But through this point of view, he didn't yet understand that his dad beating the family, Marik's mother, Ishizu and himself, was not good, nor was it 'normal'.

Marik's mom was watching from the background. She sat beautifully, blond hair glowing in the sun. She was on top of a small purple blanket, Mark's baby blanket, that they had used for a picnic that afternoon. Her and Ishizu were beautiful. Marik took after his father.

Ishizu was laughing. The flower chain Marik had made her bounced against her chest lightly. It was her birthday.

Marik smiled inside. This was what his life should be like. This moment forever. Happiness, content, the sunset, his mom and sister with him.

But his mom is dead, Ishizu left with his dad, alone.

"**We can help you forget..."**

No, this moment is good. Ishizu's eyes sparkle brightly. She is looking at Marik.

"I love your eyes Marik," she says softly. "There so kind and beautiful, so unique. Like you."

Ishizu pauses now, as though trying to decide something. Finally, she looks at him again, smiling. "And I love you Marik."

Marik smiles. But he knows what happens next. The shouting in the distance. His father stumbling drunkenly out of the sunset. Grabbing his mother's arm, swearing at her of leaving, dragging her up. Ishizu runs to help, and he hits her for the first time. Marik stares, incredulous. It's Ishizu's Birthday. Ishizu is crying, and he hits her again. Marik runs over to do what he can, and he is hit. It doesn't hurt like it usually does. He drags Ishizu away and pulls her up. She's still crying. Ishizu never cries. He says something comforting, wasted breath, and tells her to run. They run away together.

They get lost. Eventually a police officer takes them home. Marik's mom is covered in bruises on her arm and face. She sends them to bed. Ishizu doesn't ever cry again. She doesn't ever show emotion again. She doesn't ever say 'I love you' again.


	8. Chapter 7, Meeting

**Meeting-**

The pain was too great. It radiated through every part of his body, tearing him apart. Killing him with the sheer force of it. He was going to die.

Marik tried to scream, but found he had no mouth. It was too much, too great, too powerful. He'd never be free of it.

And then all too suddenly it stopped. Marik felt numb all over, numb and tingly. A blurry form of vision emerged from blackness. Sounds began to register, the sounds of daytime, of the outside. Cars, people. The face from his nightmare, staring with wide eyes, swam into focus. Marik blinked. Everything was clear as daylight. He was looking at himself, but with one diffrence. His _eyes_ were wrong.

"You tore out your soul," a voice not his said with his mouth. Marik felt sick, nauseated.

"What?" he asked indignantly. The man was even wearing his clothes. Marik shuddered.

"You tore out your soul. No one's ever done anything _that_ stupid," the man said. Marik paused.

"Am I going to die?" he asked nervously. The man laughed.

"Sweet seven hells, no. No, you'll just wander aimlessly till I get your physical body killed," he said, waving it off with Marik's hand. Anger grew in Marik. This man thought he was just a _tool_. A plaything. Something to use till you're bored, then throw away.

"And how do you plan to do _that_?" Marik hissed. Astral feet landed unevenly on the ground, and Marik stumbled. The man laughed again, using Marik's mouth still.

"Self mutilation fo course! Suicide!" the man cawed happily. Marik blanched at the mental image of himself, covered in scars and bleeding, on his last breath limping to Ishizu for help.

"Who do you think you are!" Marik snapped. The man laughed again.

"I am a Demon, sweet child, lord of Violence within Hatred, brother to the Lords of Darkness within Light and Deceit within Deceit," he exclaimed. "I kill and murder by another's hands, cause chaos and strife with another's lips, and bring about terror and destruction by another's name."

Marik rolled his eyes, though believing the words fully. What if he harmed Ishizu? "An impressive title. And so that gives you the right to toy with me?"

"Yes," the demon answered simply. Malik smirked. Marikku quivered.

"No one,"he said with more confidence than he had, "_No one_, toys with me."


End file.
